


Political Frustrations

by DChan87



Category: Arthurian Mythology, Arthurian Mythology & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Political Alliances, References to Arthurian Mythology, References to Monty Python
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-19
Updated: 2015-04-19
Packaged: 2018-03-24 19:37:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3781873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DChan87/pseuds/DChan87
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gyanhumara had never seen Arthur so infuriated until she saw what he had to put up with for rotten excuses for “allies”.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Political Frustrations

**Author's Note:**

> So I wanted to do another Arthurian short, this time also pre-Badon Hill and not really as part of the “Pride in Her Bruises” canon, but in a similar one. I sort of see young Arthur as an idealistic, but also stubborn warlord who’d rather have allies who’d question him, but for valid reasons. These “allies” only care about profit and protecting their wealth. Kind of like Republicans! XD Again, influenced, but not a fanfic of, Dawnflight, where Guinevere is a Scottish spitfire.

There wasn’t much that could infuriate Arthur the Pendragon and that much Gyanhumara was aware of.

However, she did not know about the bull-headed warlords that Arthur had to put up with, and not just his Saxon foe.

Sitting in a meeting with the remnants of the Romanach-Breatanach governors, now warlords, Arthur seethed and hissed every time they made their complaints about the marauding Saxons. And none of them had anything to do with their people.

It was just as the Caledonach chieftainess expected, as she sat next to Arthur at the table, that they would give her suspicious eyes, known that Arthur had brought a  _pagan woman_  of all things into their supposedly-sacred meeting to discuss the threat of the previously-mentioned Saxons, occasionally bringing up the Night of the Long Knives as some excuse for their plans.

And Arthur listened to them with the worst grimace she had ever seen.

“Those damn Saxons have burned all of my crops and attacked my trade routes!” one old man said. “Where is Aurelius Ambrosius when you need him!?”

“Uncle Aurelius is still re-stocking the fortress at Mons Badonicus,” the young warlord of 23 summers replied.

“That is no excuse!” the warlord snapped. “I am losing money AND patience!”

“And what am I supposed to do about that!?” Arthur replied. “I cannot just force Uncle Aurelius to drop everything he is doing and manage the entire island himself!”

“He should be doing something!” Another warlord said. “I lost a shipment of valuable pottery to a band of Saxons, and they still have not been reined in by their leader Cerdic!”

“And what must we do about him?” another warlord asked, standing up from Arthur’s rounded table. “Every day we delay, the Saxons grow in power!” Gyanhumara could have sworn the old man’s thick white beard jiggled comically every time he spoke. “I say we launch an assault and drive them back into the sea!”

“There are Saxons who have known no other land than Britannia,” said Arthur. “What can we do then?”

“How do you know that?” that same warlord asked.

“I and my men have captured more than a few of them,” said Arthur. “And a number of them were born and raised in Saxon kingdoms on the soil of Britannia! Who are we to deny them the only home that they have known?”

“Forget the young lad,” said another warlord. “It should be commendable that he is trying to avoid the mistakes of his father and Vortigern, but it is obvious he knows  _nothing_ about the situation!”

Arthur turned and glared at the man, a look that Gyan had not been on the receiving end of—and likely never will—but if looks could kill, the man would have had the fury of Arthur’s Caledonach allies descend upon him and him alone.

“Please, let the lad stay,” said another, more reasonable voice said. “The young man has done more to keep any invading bands of Saxons at bay. He is obviously doing  _something_ right.”

“Thank you, Cassius,” Arthur said.

“And yet he allowed a pagan wench into our discussion,” said the same white-bearded warlord.

“The people of my realm are equals under the law,” said Arthur. “And because she and her clan are vital allies, it is only fair that I welcome a Picti in, no matter what she believes in.”Gyan smiled proudly, respectfully and admirably at Arthur.

“Besides, have you fought her  _and_ her men?” he asked, stroking his clean-shaven face. “They would put the fear of God in any man, allied or not.”

“You are such a fool, Arthur,” said the warlord. “If these Saxons continue their raids, we must do something! I say we attack their kingdoms, too!”

“Don’t be daft,” said Arthur.

“Your arrogance is showing again,” said the warlord. “And how is it that you can let your serfs speak out against you?”

“What is the meaning of that?” Arthur asked. “And why is that bad? I try to care for them when they need it, and leave them alone when they do not need it, it is just good governing.”

“What a fool,” said the warlord.

Arthur was near the end of his rope. These men were so pig-headed he could butcher them and they would squeal like one. No, he was not going to do that, he needed all the allies he could get. But if these were the best allies he could have, who needed Saxon enemies?

“If I heard one of my subjects insulting me, I will lock them away!” said the bushy-bearded warlord. “And if they refuse to follow Lord Iesu, then I will do that as well.”

“And what good will that do?” Gyan spat. “How are you any better than the Saxons?”

“Keep your tongue in your mouth, pagan wench, I will—“

“Or you’ll what?” the fiery Caledonach clan chieftainess interrupted. “I will follow the gods of MY people, not someone else’s god!”

“Do you know who I am?” the man asked her with clenched teeth. “I have the respect and admiration of everyone in here, and the rule of more people than live in your clan alone!”

“Oh, and by whose authority?” Gyan asked. “Did some watery tart throw a sword at you?”

“Ask Arthur, he pulled a bloody sword out of a rock!”

“I did not!”

“And he is the one who had the watery tart throw a sword at him!”

“Strange women lying in ponds is no basis for a system of government,” said Arthur. “I have a mandate from my masses!”

The warlords laughed as though he’d gone mad. A growl escaped his throat, and Gyan glared at them. “Do you even care?” she asked. “Or are profits more important than people?”

“Hold your tongue, wench,” a warlord interrupted.

“That DOES IT! All of you—except for Cassius and Gwen—GET OUT!” Arthur screamed. Gyan fearlessly smirked at the warlord.

“What is the meaning of this?” the bushy-bearded warlord asked.

“You come into MY house, and insult me, my allies and guests, then I should throw you out like cheap pottery!”

“Don’t you know who I am?” the bearded man asked.

“Francis Germanius, cousin of the late Bishop Germanius,” said Arthur. “Yes, I know who you are. Now GET OUT!”

“Hold your tongue, boy!”

“And now you have insulted the host,” said Arthur.

“But you cannot throw us out!” said another warlord. “Who will be our ally—“

“Oh. I see how it is,” said Arthur. “I suspected as much, but your words have confirmed it. You don’t care about your people. You just want to protect your profits and wealth, so you can live in your villas in luxury while your people suffer at the hands of more than the Saxons. Well, I don’t need you! GET OUT. NOW!”

Several of Arthur’s men burst into the room and grabbed the warlords, albeit politely and gently. “Bedwyr, please politely escort these men off the premises,” said Arthur. “Have their things gathered as well and have their servants notified of their departure.”

“Yes, sir!” said Bedwyr.

“Gentlemen,” said Arthur. “I must thank you for coming. I apologize for being a rude host, but you have earned my wrath. Good day.” With a bow, he turned and left with Gyanhumara and Cassius in tow.

“Bloody fools,” he said whilst storming through the halls of his fortress, with Gyan and Cassius struggling to keep up. “I don’t know what’s harder; negotiating with Saxons or those fools.”

“Saxons,” said Cassius. “I would rather negotiate with an enemy than an ally.”

“That’s one way of looking at it,” said Arthur. “I don’t suppose they also believe in Might Makes Right, don’t they?”

“Possibly,” Gyan replied. “Although… you do not look as proud as I thought you would be.”

“How would you know that?” Cassius asked.

“Because it is written all over his face,” Gyan said as she stepped in front of him. It only took a single glance for Cassius to excuse himself to deliver the news of the conference to his men. However, walking down the hall, he patted a guard on the shoulder, urging him to stay away from the younger warlord.

“Gwen?” he asked.

“I appreciate how you stood up for me,” she said, gently stroking his smooth cheek. She could feel him relaxing. “But are you sure it was a good idea?”

“I think so,” he said.

“I think it was,” she replied. “There are better allies out there. Cornwall—"

“I’m not sure about Cornwall,” said Arthur. “They… do not like my father.”

“But you are not him,” she replied. He wasn’t much taller than her, so she didn’t have crane her neck all the way up to look into his eyes. “There are enough territories out there willing to help you more than those old bastards.” He tried to suppress a laugh. “Including me.”

“What?”

“Do you know the kind of sycophantic buffoons would follow those bastards?” she asked. “I’d rather not be one.”

“Thanks,” he said, snaking his arms around her and gripping her very comfortable dress.

“I’ll follow you into battle any day,” she said before she pulled him closer to kiss him, a gesture he eagerly returned and increased by holding her tighter.

“Thank you,” he said when it ended and he held her. “And I’m sorry for yelling.”

“I would have yelled at them too,” she laughed. “Come, let us have some ale.”


End file.
